


Love Like Religion

by addy_is_not_a_laddy



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Anal, Blowjobs, Dryads - Freeform, M/M, NSFW, Other, PWP, References to Suicide, Wooden dick, floraphilia, fruit fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:38:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addy_is_not_a_laddy/pseuds/addy_is_not_a_laddy
Summary: I found god, I found him in a loverMerle has known many different Pans. Not many gave him gifts, and fewer still took as personal or intimate an interest as this one.





	Love Like Religion

If Merle had to pick the life-changing event that kind of shaped the rest of him, he wouldn’t have chosen the obvious.  He wouldn’t even have chosen something other people knew about.  He would have chosen his relationship with St’thh the dryad, when he was barely out of his teens and too old for summer pancamp.

His name was more the rustling of leaves than a name, and his voice was the creaking of branches given meaning.  He wasn’t the first dryad that Merle had ever met, but he was the most important one.  He loved his forest, and he loved Pan, and during the short summer that Merle knew him, so did Merle. His face was marbled wood, knots and twigs twined together to subtly craft the expressive face Merle grew to love. And, one thing St’thh wasn’t was shy.  

Merle knew he’d move on anyway, or thought he would. Dryads did that, usually.  He didn’t care though.  Those precious months, he learned to adore the dryad, and every bit of nature that St’thh deemed necessary to share.  Merle never forgot that, nor the reverence and irreverence it gave him for nature.  It faded, with the years, but at just the right moment in the right light, the smooth softness of a peach could make his breath hitch.  The way the light played off the leaves of an aspen in the evening after a long day could make his knees weak.  The vanilla-butterscotch smell of old pines high in the mountains would haunt his dreams for weeks, if he let it.  He was always aware of the nature around him, but in his weak moments it set him alight.  Many days, he’d wonder why he bothered with Pan, cool magic or no, but on those certain days, he’d feel it in his heartbeat.  He knew he’d bleed it in his blood.

It was a peculiar sensation, going between universes.  Before he felt it, he couldn’t have named the place where his connection to Pan sat.  That stuttering moment between, he felt his connection to Pan snap, and reform in another instant; and for that brief moment he was more alone than he’d ever been in his life, standing on a ship in endless space in the spaces between universes.

He loved the changes though.  He learned to love every plane’s differences.  He loved to catch the things that were the same, but every time he came across a pine that grew in a way he didn’t understand, or a craggy cliff he wasn’t sure how even existed, he felt a little humbled.  He had known a lot about the world he came from, but he had more he could learn from every one he came to.  Even if sometimes it was lessons he’d rather not learn.  Sometimes the changes were a blur and he’d forget which world taught him what, but sometimes they were sharp - so sharp they cut, and he’d catch the exact scent of St’thh’s hands on the wind, twenty cycles after his home plane was lost to darkness.

As the universes passed in a blur, he felt something else.  Somehow, even when he knew there was no Pan to watch, he had his friends.  He might not have been great at seaweed art, nor the best healer, but he had friends.  No matter where Pan was, he had other people he could count on.  It made the endless parade of Pans he dealt with a lot easier, to be honest.  He never told his crewmates about the mad Pan of one planar system, or the ones after.  It was a dead system, no plants nor animals to the whole thing. He tried a spell only once in that universe, and when he felt the warped energy trying to become manifest he threw down his holy symbol and cut himself off.  

Before that moment, he hadn’t known he could do that.  But, this wasn’t the Pan he grew up with.  He didn’t know this Pan from a hole in the ground, so what did it matter?  Pan haunted his dreams, weird and terrifying, that whole cycle.  If he’d been a man prone to suicide, that would have been the cycle to take him, he thought.  Cycles later when he started to throw himself into the abyss to talk to John for brief moments, he’d laugh at the naivety of his younger self.

Merle made a point of dying early, if they reached barren planes.  It was easier than dealing with a mad Pan, or the awful dreams.  Late in the cycles, he met some more dryads.  Well, he’d met dryads early in the cycles too, but they were just curiosities to him and only new to his crewmates.  He let himself be drawn to them, like St’thh had drawn him, but found it wanting.  He wasn’t sure what intangible thing he’d lost between his youth and now, but it seemed to block him from the same reckless abandon that he held back then.  Still, in the aching restlessness that accompanied the end of a failed cycle like this one, he let himself be weak.  

Her hair was a shade of green he dreamed about, her arms made of countless twigs twisted into strong, broad limbs, and her voice some poetry about a stream’s song. She wasn’t St’thh, but she didn’t hold it against him that he couldn’t stop the end of the world.  All living things must die.  Her breath was fresh fruit, and her touch was softer than lamb’s ear plants.  Softer than ripe figs.  If she wasn’t quite what Merle imagined, then at least she was unique enough for new memories.

If he took refuge in the memories of those two after he talked to John that final time, then only he knew.  Fifty-some-odd conversations with the man, Lucretia told him, and all he was left with was the taste of ashes in his mouth.  Dirt would at least have had the promise of life to it, but ashes were all that was left of the billion billion lives that John’s cause had taken.  He had nightmares sometimes.  They all did, with what they’d been through, but Merle was good about keeping his quiet.  

Sometimes he’d see the haunted look in one of the twin’s eyes early in the morning, while they huddled close on the couch, or Lucretia would be sitting with Davenport in the too-small captain’s chair the day after a bad loss. He’d smile and pretend not to, but he’d see it and remember.  He sat with Magnus and Fisher more times than either of them would admit.

He was relieved that the final world they set down on after their plan was made was Faerun, instead of some barren place with a mad Pan and no green anywhere.  They would have died eventually, surely, in a place like that, no matter Taako’s transmutation abilities.

Faerun was green, and there were by some ridiculous fluke of existence, some cousins of his.  He didn’t see much of them, until Lucretia made her move.  When Lucretia put him on the beach he was happy, for a while.  Still, his legs were restless; some part of him remembered a journey much bigger than walks up and down the beach.  The ocean could only keep him so long, and Hecuba’s arms weren’t the ones he imagined at night.  Like he had with the mad Pans he couldn’t remember, he cut himself from his small family and walked away.  Something out in the wide world was calling him, and he couldn’t stop himself from following its call.

He proselyted, for lack of any idea of a better thing to do.  Perhaps he could have found a job, but before he got much past wandering for a few years, he met two men that he felt an inexplicable pull to.  And ended up in a job for his cousin. And all that followed.  

The goldcliff trust, he admitted to himself, was half a joke and half in earnest.  He knew somehow that he could get the vines to part, and if his companions’ reactions weren’t enough there was a sort of thrill in it too.  One he hadn’t felt in far too long.  Of course he had to immediately follow it with the Trent debacle, but he had long since learned to take the good with the bad where it came. 

He hadn’t really considered that Pan might take notice of his interests, but he also hadn’t considered that this Pan didn’t know Merle as well as Merle thought he did.  He felt Pan’s regard a bit more deeply when he got his replacement arm though.  That wasn’t even a sordid metaphor, no matter that he wouldn’t have objected if it was. Pan seemed to be with him more and more, until Wonderland.  Merle had wondered to himself if perhaps sacrificing his arm, whether by accident or not, had strengthened his connection to Pan.  That thought was in his mind when he gave up his dark vision, and then his whole eye; even as his connection to Pan seemed to wane, the link growing taut before disappearing entirely.  

There was so many other things going on that day, but that empty hole in his chest had his constant attention. When he felt it snap back into place was the first time in that awful day that he thought he might not fail.  No matter his bluster and bravado, he was nothing without that connection except a little more resilient to hits than Taako.  His connection to Pan had come to define him, within and without this world.  And then there he was, Pan, apologizing to him.  And, as certainly as he knew that this Pan wasn’t the one that he left back on that world so many lives ago, he didn’t care.  And then Pan said he’d “always be my Merle”; how was he supposed to feel about that?  

On the absolute edge, when the world was about to be lost and the last hope to save the multiverses was unconscious on the deck of the starblaster, Pan came from the bond engine and proved his words golden.  If Merle’s faith had previously only been habit, then it became fact somewhere between losing his arm and the moment Pan saved all their lives.  This was his Pan, no matter the ones he’d left behind.  

Merle had never been particularly prone to prayer, since he landed on this world.  It became something he did between breaths, even if it wasn’t the sort of prayers that he would have used to have given.  Things like talking about all the mad Pans he’d seen.  Things like the suicides he’d not really admit to.  He told Pan about St’thh, absently as he tended the garden of his stupidly large estate.  Earl Merle, but he’d tend his own garden dammit.  And, it was peaceful, because he wasn’t tired any more.  If there was a charge to it, then he dug his fingers into the soil and kept working till it didn’t matter anymore, because he had two children to do right by, and he could cope with his life now.

Of course, Pan listened.  Pan knew, and by adding together the things Merle told him with what the voidfish had told the whole universe, he could fill in the holes to make sense of his Merle better than he’d ever managed before.  And, he decided that sending him a little gift was in order.  He picked the timing carefully.  The starblaster crew was on their own errands, the children were with their mother, and Merle had a lazy week ahead of him.  

Which is when he woke up with a peculiar fruit growing on his hand. 

Merle… had a fondness for his wooden arm.  Even if he could have gotten a flesh one again, he’d have refused outright.  It was more than the fact that it seemed to connect him more deeply to Pan, it was also the constant weighty reminder of his choices.  And, if he was being honest, it was really pandamn hot.  He’d never touch himself with his flesh arm again, once that soulwood arm was attached, and he knew it the instant it bonded to his stump.  One thing his friends didn’t realize that amused him, was that he could take it off, and still feel and control it as if it were a part of him.  He suspected that even if he had gotten a replacement arm, that would have been the case.  The elf in the woods who’d asked him if he was some sort of dryad had managed to hit on the crux of it.

His arm reminded him of the lovers he missed. He’d think of St’thh’s laugh and the way his hands would clench when Merle was kneeling in front of him.  He’d think of his hand in St’thh’s hair as he knelt between Merle’s legs, and praised any deity listening for the chance to live like this.  He’d hold himself just that little bit too tight, to press the grain of his wooden hand into his cock, muffling himself against his pillows.  

Merle woke up gradually, to his arm kind of moving around without him.  Well, not without him.  He could feel it moving, but much like the other times it had moved without him concentrating on it, he had a feeling it was getting help.  The help in this case, as it turned out, was that it was waking him up to get his attention.  Merle obliged, a bit confused, and examined his arm as he came up out of his dream. 

He blinked a few times, rolling over and kind of staring at the wall without really seeing it, and his arm stilled.  Merle wasn’t good at waking up, sometimes.  Luckily, he had a little time to himself so he didn’t have to force himself awake quickly for some Mavis or Mookie emergency. He rolled awkwardly towards the edge of the bed, but when he when to set his hand on the side he felt some resistance.  He brought his hand up to his face, curious, and found himself looking at what had to be the most suggestive fruit he’d ever seen in his life.  It looked like it might have made friends with a peach at some point, but it was bigger.  And it was, he found as he touched it with his other hand… curiously warm? 

He kind of stared at it, confused for a long moment.  Was this…?  Did Pan want him to…?

Well, when his hand kind of nudged it towards his morning wood he got the picture pretty well.  He couldn’t help but start laughing at the unexpected absurdity of it, but also he was starting to consider the fruit.  His arm settled, apparently satisfied that he’d gotten the idea that it was trying to give him.  Well, his arm, Pan.  He wanted to think of it as his arm as just having gained a personality for a moment.  He needed to ease into the idea that… Pan had given him a fruit to fuck?

He finished rolling off the bed more delicately, it was kinda big, and managed to land on the floor without falling.  He padded to the bathroom, fruit on hand, a sort of curious energy curling in his stomach.  He could feel anticipation building with each step towards the bathroom, but he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect.

Once he got to the bathroom he hesitated, before edging off his boxers and leaving them on the floor.  He stepped towards the shower, hesitating for a moment before leaving the water off.  He brought the fruit back up to eye level, inspecting it more closely now that he was situated somewhere that he could appreciate it better. He noticed its smell this time, fresh, almost green-smelling like a tree, but with the bright sweet tone one might expect from a fruit. 

His arm began heading back south again, and he let it meander, letting the fruit brush against his dick.  It was smooth, and soft, and contemplating fucking it made him ache.  He groaned, letting his arm take the lead a little bit.  It tilted slightly, and angled the fruit so that the head of his dick was touching the suggestively shaped area in the cleft, before sort of swirling it around the tip.  Merle put his hand on the edge of the shower and leaned heavily, watching, his breath growing a little faster.  Slowly, so slowly, it began to press the fruit onto his dick, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away, but paused.  He waited, expectant, for long seconds, groaning before he finally spoke out loud.  

“Pan, please, do it. Don’t tease me like this. I just-” but he cut himself off as his arm started to move again.

The fruit gave beautifully, the skin taking just a bit longer than he’d expected to give.  It was so soft, and immediately it started leaking juice.  It was warmer than he’d anticipated, and so wet.  An inch or so into the fruit, there was some slight resistance before what felt like… a seed? A smooth seed gave way and rubbed its way up his dick as his arm continued to push the fruit down his length.  The juice was starting to drip down his cock now, droplets forming agonizingly slowly along with the slowness of the penetration.

He met a few more seeds along the way, all of them contributing to the sensation.  He could feel the juices starting to drip down his balls, and he wanted to- but the arm kept going so slowly, until his cock was entirely inside the fruit.  He tried to slow his breathing, but he found that it resisted his efforts as much as his arm had a new mind of its own. He groaned quietly, letting his eyes close for a brief moment.

His arm jerked, and his eyes flew open as he let out a gasp.  His arm started slowly bringing the fruit down, back and forth, and he cursed lowly, leaning harder on the edge of the shower.  It never seemed to stop, and every single seed seemed to drag deliciously across his cock constantly. 

When his arm stopped he let out a whine before he could stop himself, knowing he was getting close.  The arm began moving again slowly, but picking up speed this time, and Merle could feel his legs clenching.  He fought to remain standing, his arm holding him up shaking as he felt juices running down his cock and legs, the wet sound of the fruit echoing against the bathroom walls.  

He came with a cry, throwing his head back and accidentally hitting it on she shower wall.  He didn’t manage to keep his legs at that point, falling to the shower floor to sit in the fruit juice and hold his aching head, his other hand still holding the freshly fucked fruit.  He snorted, and started laughing at that point, his ears ringing a little bit.  

When he cleaned up he found the seeds and, considering, kept a few.  He wasn’t sure if they would just grow more arms or something, but it was worth a shot, right?  He’d tasted the juice out of curiosity, and it was wonderfully sweet.  He probably could have just eaten the fruit if he hadn’t made such a mess.

Merle should have been more surprised than he was a few days later when a dryadic satyr with Pan’s eyes was lounging on his living room couch.  He’d just finished in his garden for the morning, and he still had dirt under his nails.  His mouth went dry when he saw Pan’s smirk.  Could deities smirk?  Well, not that it mattered.  Apparently his could.  He wasn’t sure what to say, if there was anything he could say. Half out of habit he offered up a little prayed to know what to do but… 

“Do?  No, Merle.  My Merle.  I’ve got this one.  Do you know what today is?”  Pan’s voice was everything he remembered, and he shuddered bit, hearing the tone.

“Not my birthday.  Not my wedding anniversary… not that I celebrate that any more.”  Somehow he managed to speak past the dryness in his throat loudly enough to be heard. 

“It’s the fifteenth anniversary of your coming to this plane.” He said casually.  Merle nodded, waiting to see if there would be any more clarification.  “I couldn’t forget, but it’s the first one where I understand how you got here.” He had a sly look now.  “And, I could frame this as some sort of reward for saving the multiverse or the planar system, but” and he licked his lips here “I prefer honesty.”

Merle watched, pretending that his pants weren’t uncomfortably tight, or that he wasn’t incredibly aware of how alone they were. “It’s hard to lie to my god.” He was sure he choked, halfway through that one.

“Merle. My Merle.  You don’t have any reason to lie to me.  So I’ll be honest.  Honestly.  And, to be honest, sometimes, Merle, I like some of my creations more than others.  Now, you’re not mine, not like that, but I can think of other ways to make you mine.”  He chuckled.  “Sometimes, I like a cleric well enough to want to give them a little something.  Now, Merle.  I like you a lot more than that.”  Pan stood on furred legs, and took a few slow steps towards Merle. His hooves looked like solid wood, and they had a solid clack against the wood floors that had Merle’s heart in his throat.  His eyes traveled up the hooves, past the furred legs, rested briefly on nude haunches and a bare dick, and travelled up a finely-grained chest.  His shoulders reminded Merle of another dryad he’d once known, and his neck managed to look elegant while still being so solid.  Pan’s face was… more finely detailed than any other he was sure he’d seen.  Somehow, his face seemed more real than anything else in the room, his horns curved elegantly back from his face to frame his ears.

“That’s… good?” 

Pan stopped, his face kind now.  “It’s good, but only as good as you want it to be.  Any time you want me to stop, or to go, and I’ll do it in an instant. Just say the word, Merle.”  He took a few more steps closer. “But I think that this is something that you’ll like.” Finally, he was within reaching distance, and he rested his intricately put-together hands on Merle’s waistband, running them slowly up and down his sides. Merle swallowed, his heart racing. He nodded, almost convulsively, not quite believing what he was agreeing to.  

Pan kneeled smoothly, somehow managing despite the unique arrangement of his lower limbs, gently rubbing at the bulge in Merle’s pants.  Merle leaned more heavily into the wall, his breath rushing out of his mouth unevenly.  “Would praises to Pan be too self-serving here?” He let out a half-laugh, his voice coming out breathy.  Pan didn’t respond except to pull down the elastic of his pants, and run his tongue up the length of the exposed cock.  Merle’s laugh turned into a groan, and he was sure the wall was the only reason he was still standing. 

Pan gave a few lazy strokes with his hand, and lapped at the tip before responding. “Not at all, Merle.  Especially for something I’ll work so hard to earn.” He continued to stroke Merle’s dick as he spoke, still smiling. Then, before Merle could respond, he went in for the kill, taking Merle deep into his mouth.  Merle’s mouth had been half-open to try to reply, but instead he moaned like the sound had been ripped from him.  Pan put one of his hands against Merle’s hips as he began to bob. Merle’s knees felt like water, but the steady hand kept him against the wall.  

Merle wouldn’t have guessed that a deity would be good at giving head, but he was too busy having his mind blown to contemplate it that hard.  One moment he was deep in, and the next a talented tongue was lapping just below the head of his dick and having him moan all over again. The hand that wasn’t helping hold Merle to the wall alternated between stroking his dick and reaching down to caress his balls gently, and it felt obscenely similar to his soulwood arm. He could feel himself coming close, and then Pan began to hum, and he flew apart.  He cried out desperately, prayers and thanks spilling past his lips in a tumble he couldn’t even understand despite being the one to speak them.  

Pan seemed to never stop smiling, though he did look a little satisfied now. 

“Merle.  Now, I’m going to go find some olive oil in your kitchen, if you want to make use of the facilities before we continue.” Pan’s eyes danced with mirth, and Merle laughed a little breathlessly.  

“Yeah sure.  I… guess I’ll meet you in my bedroom? You don’t need a tour do you?” 

“No, I think I’ll be able to find my way fine.  Thank you Merle.” Pan wandered in the direction of Merle’s kitchen, and Merle stumbled back towards his bathroom.  He wanted to make some connections to his time with St’thh, but this was… nothing like it, really.  He was at home, and he had a family, and he had a real bed.  And it was Pan?  That was the sticking point in his mind, but he knew that Kravitz would never pretend to be Pan on him again, he’d promised.  And anyway that train of thought led down a weird road he’d rather not contemplate.

Not that the road he was on made much sense either.  He finished in the bathroom, and washed up in kind of a daze, unsure what he’d find in his room.  When he finally made his way towards it, what he found was a now grinning Pan sitting on his bed with his legs tucked up underneath him, bottle of oil in hand.  Merle had abandoned his pants and the rest of his clothes in the bathroom when he was washing up, so now he was as nude as Pan himself.  

The bed was higher than he normally would have chosen for himself, but he suspected that Magnus had forgotten how short he was when constructing it.  Or he was being a dick because Merle had never forgiven him out loud for the arm thing.  He liked to pretend he was taking a flying leap every time he got onto it for bed, but now he felt absolutely absurd as he jumped up onto the bed and did a few barrel rolls towards where Pan was sitting.  It was a big bed, so it took a second, and by the time he was close enough to Pan to touch him, Pan was belly-laughing.  Merle sat up somewhat sheepishly, a grin on his face.  

“Never change, Merle.” Pan said affectionately.  “As I said once at the beginning of your journey… You’re beautiful.”

Merle flushed a bit, remembering the silly conversation he was talking about.  His time without his memories hadn’t been a good time for his self-esteem, but it was somewhat embarrassing that he’d conference called his deity to ask if he was stupid.  He was distracted from his thoughts by Pan pouring some of the oil onto his hands carefully, and spreading it on an impressive wooden cock that hadn’t been nearly as prominent as it was now when Merle had been getting his blowjob.  It looked like what Merle had basically come to expect from dicks, which was somewhat a relief.  He wasn’t sure what he’d have done if there had been some more animalistic type thing going on down there.  Well, no he probably would have just let Pan fuck him either way, if he was honest with himself.

Pan watched him, as he leisurely oiled himself up.  He made a show of it, rolling his hand slowly across his length.  Merle’s eyes were transfixed.  Trust wasn’t even a question here, this was the god that he put his faith into every second of the day in some way or other.  This was the god that pulled his bacon out of the fire when it mattered most, and earned Merle’s unwavering trust.  He took enough time oiling himself that Merle could feel himself stirring again already, surprising himself.  

Pan gently maneuvered into position kneeling between Merle’s splayed legs, and let his slick fingers do some gentle exploration. He trailed them across downy hair, to tease his asshole a little bit, before a little more oil would be applied.  It was gentle, and maddeningly slow in the best way.  Merle would have to breathe, and then Pan would add a little more oil, until his fingers were sliding easily and he was achingly hard.

Pan smiled at Merle as he positioned his wooden dick at the slick entrance.  Merle was already breathing heavily, almost dizzy at it all.  The shaft was hard against him, but somehow softer than he’d expected.  He pressed in slowly, so slowly it barely felt like he was moving at all, but the whole time he watched Merle for his reactions to make sure nothing was wrong.  Merle tried to start stroking himself at one point, and Pan gave a little laugh before gently brushing his hand back to clench the bedsheets.

Once he was comfortably seated, Pan waited until Merle nodded before continuing.  Merle was back to muttering prayers in moments, as Pan settled into a slow rhythm.  He couldn’t control his breathing, and he was sure that despite having already come not long ago he was probably going to manage.  

“Merle, you say the sweetest things.” Pan said with a smile in his voice. Merle was only half-processing the words out of his mouth, but he could feel himself flush even as he continued, his voice getting more and more desperate. Pan obliged him by changing the angle of attack, and he stopped being able to form any words.  His voice just became nonsense noises, breath rushing past vocal cords, and infused with as much feeling as he could give it.  

Every thrust was part of a never-ending moment, and Merle could still somehow feel the wood grain of his cock inside of him.  It was amazing, it was unbelievable.  It was only something that Pan could have done, or a dryad to some extent.  But, no this wasn’t even comparable to St’thh or those long-ago memories.  He was sensation and existence, his hands clenched so tightly to the sheets that he was sure his flesh hand would cramp, and his back was arched so tightly he felt like a spring about to snap.

And then Pan picked up the speed one last time, and with a slickly oiled hand began to pump Merle’s cock.  He felt himself almost seize up, and let out a yell as he finally came.  Pan continued a few strokes longer before he stilled, another satisfied look on his face.  Merle felt almost dizzy, almost out of his body. He could feel his breathing start to slow, even as Pan left and came back with towels, gently wiping up the mess.  Merle wanted to ask why, or how he’d earned something like this, but the words were stuck in his throat.  Of course, Pan seemed to know anyway.

“You don’t trust yourself enough, sometimes Merle.  I like seeing my acolytes happy, and it makes me happy.  I don’t need this like most races do, but it’s satisfying to see you like this.  I think I’ll probably come again, no pun intended, if you don’t mind it.  I’m pretty good with timing, I’m sure you agree.”  Pan rolled onto the bed as ungracefully as Merle had, and Merle chuckled to see it.  He’d picked the best god.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't fuck fruit in real life without a condom friends, your yeast infections are not my fault or problem.
> 
> Title and some of the summary from Halsey's Coming Down. I'm gonna go not look myself in the eye for the next month now. I honest-to-god cannot believe that I wrote this. This is a thing created by my hands. I'm going to have to live with the fact that I wrote this, but I can't fucking let it sit in my scrivener any longer. Take it. It may receive slight edits later.
> 
> None of you guys wanted to be the first one to put the wierd shit out there, I can't believe this is honestly the first Merle/Pan fic in the archive. Where's my weird shit people? I thought most of you were homestucks? I'm disappointed in all of you and disappointed in myself.


End file.
